Chloe said nothing. She stared across the street.
“I’m sure it was him,” Daria said.
“Why would he come here?” Chloe asked.
“Well, he still owns the cottage,” Daria said. Chloe stared at Poll-Rory a moment longer before lowering her gaze to her book. Rory’s return was probably of little interest to her, Daria thought. Chloe had been older than Rory; she had not known him well. She had not looked forward to spending time with him every day during the summers of her childhood.
“Let’s go say hi to him.” Shelly started to stand up. Daria felt instantly intimidated. He probably would have little memory of her.
How full his life had been since the last time she’d seen him, while here she was, still firmly rooted in Kill Devil Hills.
“Let’s give them a chance to settle in first,” she said, glancing across the street once more before walking into the cottage to finish folding her laundry.
Daylight was fading, and Rory felt the pinch of a mosquito bite. If he and Zack stayed on the deck much longer, they would need to light the citronella candle. They’d eaten dinner on the rear deck, which jutted from the second story of the cottage and gave them a view of the ocean to the east as well as the sun falling over the sound to the west.
Between Poll-Rory and the sound, though, were many, many cottages. Far more than Rory remembered. Still, little could ruin his pleasure at being in Kill Devil Hills.
They’d eaten carry out North Carolina barbecue for dinner—one of those culinary delicacies he’d been craving ever since deciding to make this trip.
“Let’s have takeout every night,” Zack said, closing the disposable box and lifting a can of soda to his lips.
“Well, a few times a week, anyhow,” Rory said. The truth was, he loved to cook, and two years of cooking primarily for himself had grown old.
He was looking forward to spending time in Poll-Rory’s rudimentary kitchen this summer.
“This is crazy,” Zack said, looking above him at the darkening sky.
“I’m never going to get used to East Coast time.”
“You will,” Rory said, although they had eaten dinner very late because their stomachs still thought they were back in L.
A.
“Tomorrow morning, we’ll have breakfast at nine, and then we’ll be on track.”
“Nine? Forget it. It’s summer. I’m sleeping in.”
“Okay,” Rory said. This was not worth arguing about.
“You can sleep as much as you like.” He slapped a mosquito on his thigh.
“I’m going across the cul-de-sac to see the neighbors,” he said.
“Want to join me?” “I saw some kids over on the beach before you got back with dinner,” Zack said.
“Think I’ll go see if they’re still there.”
Well, at least Zack wasn’t shy. Or maybe he simply wanted to get away from his father for a while after this long day of togetherness.
“Okay,” Rory said.
“I’ll see you later.”
Rory walked down the steps from the deck, through the cottage, and out to his sandy front yard. The warm, humid air smelled strongly of the sea, and he couldn’t shake a sudden bittersweet wave of nostalgia as he walked across the cul-de-sac. The screened porch light was on at the Sea Shanty, and as he neared the cottage, he saw a blond-haired woman inside, sitting in one of the rocking chairs, engrossed in something on her lap. She stood up when she spotted him and walked to the porch door.
“Hi,” Rory said.
“Are you Shelly?”
“Sure am.” The woman pushed open the screen door.
“And you’re Rory,” she said.
“Right.” Still standing in the sand, he put his hands on his hips and cocked his head to study her. Her smile was wide, her teeth straight and white, and she was very pretty. Her long hair was a silky, pale blond.
“You were about three years old the last time I saw you.”
“Well, you were about thirty-five the last time I saw you.” She grinned.
“I saw you just the other night on True Life Stories.”
He laughed.
“Thirty-six,” he said.
“I don’t remember you from when I was little,” Shelly said.
“Daria and Chloe remember you, though.” “Who are you talking to. Shelly?” A female voice came from the living room, beyond the porch.
“Are they here?” Rory asked.
